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I tug the waistband of his jeans, the buttons popping, and he grasps my shoulders as I sink to my knees in front of him.

As I gaze up at him through my lashes, he stares down at me. His eyes are dark, his lips parted, and he inhales deeply when I free him and ensnare him with my mouth. I love doing this to Christian. Watching him come apart, hearing his breath hitch, and the soft moans he makes deep in his throat. I close my eyes and suck hard, pressing down on him, relishing his taste and his breathless gasp.

He grasps my head, stilling me, and I sheath my teeth with my lips and push him deeper into my mouth.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he orders, his voice low.

Blazing eyes meet mine and he flexes his hips, filling my mouth to the back of my throat then withdrawing quickly. He pushes into me again and I reach up to grab him. He stops and holds me in place.

“Don’t touch or I’ll cuff you again. I just want your mouth,” he growls.

Oh my. Like that is it? I put my hands behind my back and gaze up at him innocently with my mouth full.

“Good girl,” he says, smirking down at me, his voice hoarse. He eases back, and holding me gently but firmly, he pushes into me again. “You have such a fuckable mouth, Mrs. Grey.” He closes his eyes and eases into my mouth as I squeeze him between my lips, running my tongue over and around him. I take him deeper and withdraw, again and again and again, the air hissing between his teeth.

“Ah! Stop,” he says, and he pulls out of me, leaving me wanting more. He grasps my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. Grabbing my braid, he kisses me hard, his persistent tongue greedy and giving at once. Suddenly he releases me, and before I know it, he’s lifted me into his arms and moved over to the four-poster. Gently, he lays me down so that my behind is just on the edge of the bed.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he orders. I do and pull him toward me.

He leans down, hands either side of my head, and still standing, very slowly eases himself into me.

Oh, that feels so good. I close my eyes and revel in his slow possession.

“Okay?” he asks, his concern evident in his tone.

“Oh, God, Christian. Yes. Yes. Please.” I tighten my legs around him and push against him. He groans. I clasp his arms, and he flexes his hips slowly at first, in, out.

“Christian, please. Harder—I won’t break.”

510/551

He groans and starts to move, really move, pounding into me again and again. Oh, it’s heavenly.

“Yes,” I gasp, tightening my hold on him as I start to build . . . He moans, grinding into me with renewed determination . . . and I’m close. Oh, please. Don’t stop.

“Come on, Ana,” he groans through gritted teeth, and I explode around him, my orgasm going on and on and on. I call out his name and Christian stills, groaning loudly, as he climaxes inside me.

“Ana,” he cries.

Christian lies beside me, his hand caressing my belly, his long fingers splayed out wide.

“How’s my daughter?”

“She’s dancing.” I laugh.

“Dancing? Oh yes! Wow. I can feel her.” He grins as Blip Two somersaults inside me.

“I think she likes sex already.”

Christian frowns. “Really?” he says dryly. He moves so his lips are against my bump. “There’ll be none of that until you’re thirty, young lady.” I giggle. “Oh, Christian, you are such a hypocrite.”

“No, I’m an anxious father.” He gazes up at me, his brow furrowed, betraying his anxiety.

“You’re a wonderful father, as I knew you would be.” I caress his lovely face, and he gives me his shy smile.

“I like this,” he murmurs, stroking then kissing my belly. “There’s more of you.”

I pout. “I don’t like more of me.”

“It’s great when you come.”

“Christian!”

“And I’m looking forward to the taste of breast milk again.”

“Christian! You are such a kinky—”

511/551

He swoops on me suddenly, kissing me hard, throwing his leg over mine, and grabbing my hands so they are above my head. “You love the kinky fuckery,” he whispers, and he runs his nose down mine.

I grin, caught in his infectious, wicked smile. “Yes, I love the kinky fuckery.

And I love you. Very much.”

I jerk awake, woken by a high-pitched squeal of delight from my son, and even though I can’t see him or Christian, I grin like an idiot with my glee. Ted has woken from his nap, and he and Christian are romping nearby. I lie quietly, still marveling at Christian’s capacity for play. His patience with Teddy is extraordinary—much more so than with me. I snort. But then, that’s how it should be. And my beautiful little boy, the apple of his mother and father’s eyes, knows no fear.

Christian, on the other hand, is still too overprotective—of both of us. My sweet, mercurial, controlling Fifty.

“Let’s find Mommy. She’s here in the meadow somewhere.” Ted says something I don’t hear, and Christian laughs freely, happily. It’s a magical sound, filled with his paternal joy. I can’t resist. I struggle up onto my elbows to spy on them from my hiding place in the long grass.